(February 15th, 2014: Author Notes added)
Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. For the record, neither am I Leslie Charteris, nor do I own The Saint.
Note: The following is set in my 'Saint Potter' universe, and is a diversion from the main story to take a look at some of the goings on of Hogsmeade village council. This particular chapter looks in briefly on a meeting taking place during the summer of 1991. The Hogsmeade of the Saint Potter universe differs on some points of location and geography from that of canon. This story is rated 'M', to be on the safe side, on account of occasional 'language'.
It was hard being head of Hogsmeade village council and sitting in Hengist's Chair, Jamie MacDonald thought ruefully – not least because even though it was a seventeenth century reproduction, after the original had been lost in a goblin rebellion, the bloody literal chair was apparently designed for maximum discomfort whilst still technically remaining a seat. It was fashioned of unyielding elm, and covered with all manner of elaborate carvings on practically every available surface, so no matter which way you sat in it you tended to get poked in awkward places. It was particularly hard on a middle-aged witch or wizard (such as Jamie) not quite so physically toned as he had once been – and indeed inclined to a slight degree of 'spread' about the waist – and of course it was against the rules for the head of the council to use a cushion whilst presiding over a meeting.
About the only advantage that the borderline painful physical experience of sitting in the chair offered was that – no matter how much a speaker was droning on – it was a piece of furniture that it was impossible to fall asleep in.
"…And of course, Biddy Beeswax has once again complained about the pupils of Hogwarts, and wants us to petition the Minister to make Hogsmeade weekends illegal. She claims that they make the streets look untidy, are uncouth, and are generally a disservice to the village. I have here the equally usual petition from the heads of multiple businesses and traders begging the council to ignore goodwitch Beeswax, on the basis that if the Ministry banned Hogsmeade weekends it would irreparably damage the revenue streams of the undersigned…" Catherine Campbell waved a sheet of parchment in the air.
Whilst Jamie didn't doubt that the Hogsmeade weekends brought valuable money into the village – particularly to venues such as the tea-rooms and public houses – he was on general principle inclined to take nothing at face value that Catherine said – she was a Campbell after all, and witch or not, it stood to reason that she would be upto something the moment that she thought that she could get away with it. Campbells were inherently untrustworthy – or at least they were if you were a MacDonald.
He flicked his wand and levitated the piece of parchment from Catherine's grasp, and spent thirty seconds muttering things under his breath, checking the parchment for compulsion charms, love philtres, rare poisons, or any other manner of mischief Catherine might have employed, whilst being careful not to touch it directly. The other council members looked on with a mixture of resignation and suppressed amusement as he did so; it was hardly an unusual routine for them to see at a council meeting, and they'd developed the wisdom not to comment on what they viewed as their head's 'eccentricities' several years ago.
Catherine of course (twenty-something, and holder of some record or other for one of the youngest council members for five-hundred years, upon the day eight years ago that she had first arrived in an official capacity at a meeting) pretended not to notice or to take offence at this treatment, but then of course she would – she was a Campbell after all, blast her.
With a grunt, Jamie finally determined that this latest instalment of paperwork submitted by the Campbell in the room was clean of any designs upon his life, health, or sanity and finally picked it up and looked over it, affirming that there were indeed the 'usual suspects' moving to block Biddy's latest submission to the council. Last month she'd claimed (again) that 'Shrieking Shack School Supplies' was 'an abomination against nature, on account of the unholy history of the building, and that it ought to be demolished in its entirety and its customers removed', and as usual had been blocked. Biddy complained about the Shrieking Shack (or rather its conversion to the venue of an enterprise and the particular clientele that it often attracted) three or four times a year; it was one of her favourite subsets of complaints when it came to 'All Things Hogwarts'. A couple of years back, she'd spent six months in one go trying to ban underage pupils of Hogwarts from the village unless several spent three hours sitting in the village stocks on every trip, 'to teach them all some manners'.
To be honest, Jamie had no idea if the Minister of Magic could ban Hogsmeade weekends, but at least the petition of traders gave him a bona-fide reason to not do anything about the latest instalment of Biddy Beeswax's unending struggle to bring the pupils of Hogwarts firmly to heel. She'd grumble about it of course, and try something else next month.
"Petition noted, and unless anybody has anything to bring up in support of goodwitch Beeswax's claim, I shall duly inform her after this meeting that in this matter the will of the community is against her."
Jamie glanced around the table, but saw nobody raise a hand to mention anything in support of Biddy Beeswax. Usually, when she was off on her hippogriff about Hogwarts, nobody did.
He waited and then put the petition down.
"Moving on to the next order of business, Mr. Duncan Ogden has joined us here today to petition the council for permission to extend a branch from the railway line to his family's Hogsmeade distillery." Jamie continued.
Everyone knew that this was coming – it had been the talk of the village after all for the past seven months, and in case any of the harder-of-hearing council members had somehow missed the talk, it was there in capital letters on the agenda, a copy of which had been duly sent in advance of this meeting to everyone now in this room. Nonetheless, there was a definite stir of interest and murmur around the table as Mr. Ogden pushed back his chair and stood up. He produced a number of sheets of paper from a pocket and caused one (which proved to have a map on it) to enlarge and levitate into the air so that everyone could see it.
"As we are all no doubt aware by now, the village council, a century and a half ago, reluctantly granted permission for 'the placement of a railway line and station in the valley, on condition that the unnatural sights and smells of it be kept from impinging on any frequent basis on the village of Hogsmeade'." Mr. Ogden began. "And since that day, it has been tucked away out of sight, not intruding itself upon what is unquestionably the finest magical village in these British Isles, if not in Europe. However as – in recent years – the commercial advantages of railway lines have begun to become apparent, both in terms of easier bulk shipping in of raw materials and of more commodious export of products, my family have been endeavouring to arrange a rail connection for one of the distilleries which they own about the Highlands. Our Hogsmeade distillery", he waved his wand at the map, causing one set of buildings to glow red, "is without a doubt the closest site that we have to a railhead, and indeed we already make much use of the goods yard facilities attached to Hogsmeade Station." He waved his wand and another area of the map started to glow red, too. "However, this causes – as many of you will have noticed – a certain amount of associated cart traffic to pass back and forth through the village," a wand flick and a meandering flashing black dotted line connected the two red areas, "and is to a certain extent time and labour consuming at either end of the trip, with the loading and unloading of carts to factor into the situation. Even with magic, such things take time. We consequently believe that a great saving in time and economy of labour to ourselves and our employees – and of bother to pedestrians on the streets of Hogsmeade – would be achieved if we had our own private siding actually at the distillery, with a short connecting line to the main Hogsmeade branch. We have come up with a number of proposals for tastefully routing a railway around the southwestern side of the village, ranging from a viaduct, keeping the line above eye level – though that might inconvenience some residents in terms of the afternoon sun, I will allow – to a tunnel or cutting leading down to the village and taking the line past at eye-level, practically invisible save for a boundary fence, when traffic is not embarked upon it…"
A succession of wand waves traced various further lines, in gold, silver, and bronze on the hovering map, connecting the red areas, as Duncan outlined each 'option'.
Duncan went on and on with his presentation, being careful to emphasise as much as possible the inconvenience of current arrangements which such a railway extension might relieve Hogsmeade of, and the potential for expansion of trade – and of increased opportunities for local employment – that such a direct link might allow the distillery in Hogsmeade to enjoy. He occasionally brought up stylised graphs, with figures represented by whisky casks or groups of industrious-looking young people.
Jamie himself had already made his mind up on this issue – he had done so months ago – but unfortunately as the current occupant of Hengist's Chair he was supposed to be absolutely neutral on the matter, unless the other council members tied in any vote on the proposal or some aspect of it.
Hogsmeade needed to expand and to become a small, prosperous, thriving town, with a mayor, instead of a mere head-of-village-council stuck sitting in an uncomfortable chair. (Although even the chair might be more tolerable to a mayor if, say, he had a gold chain-of-office to wear.) The muggles had had their industrial revolutions and explosions of commerce and industry years ago, but unfortunately a good many of the inhabitants of Hogsmeade and members of the council still seemed to think that they were back in an age of goblin rebellions, where subsistence was the best option because any minute a pack of unruly goblins might be along to burn down anything which any unnecessary work had been put into. Well that and 'we need to stay as close to nature as possible'. They were bloody witches and wizards for crying out loud – waving a stick in the air and causing a pineapple to grow to ten feet high, or turning a mouse into a carthorse was about as unnatural as you could get, but pineapples, mice or carthorses didn't build tracks of steel, set on sleepers bedded on a pile of ballast (or at least not normally) so railways must be unnatural. Sometimes, Jamie thought, a good many of his fellow witches and wizards confused 'normal' (for a witch or wizard) for 'natural'…
Anyway, the question was as to what way feeling in the village (and on the council) was going to run today; which views might be in the majority (or perceived by the voting council members) to be in the majority, and what would they decide to do about it?...
Author Notes:
Somehow the opening paragraph went missing when I originally posted this; I've put it back in now. Sorry about that. Down to business.
Canon doesn't have much to say (as of February, 2014) about the administration of Hogsmeade, but it seemed likely to me that as with any settlement of any size, it would have some body with responsibility for handling complaints about the village ducks terrorising sheepdogs, ensuring that the streets are kept in a state of good repair, handling allegations that the youths of today have insufficient respect for their elders, and so on... Jamie MacDonald is the hapless wizard who resulted when I started to put together a few ideas in case I should have need of them later for the Saint Potter alternate universe.
'Hengist of Woodcroft' (according to Harry Potter wiki as of February, 2014) was the man responsible for founding Hogsmeade. The chair that Jamie MacDonald sits in as head of the council is a replica of an older one supposed to have some sort of tie to Hengist. The current piece of furniture has no known magical properties (other than having been treated to resist wood-boring creatures and fungal rot) and in form roughly resembles a 'captain's chair', albeit one on which just about every available surface of wood has been carved to resemble plants, animals, or just annoying decorative curly or spiky bits.
In this particular universe, several years after Remus Lupin left Hogwarts, the Shrieking Shack was turned into a school-supplies shop. (For the record, at the Hogwarts 'end' of the tunnel which ran to/from the Shrieking Shack, the Whomping Willow went under the axe in 1980 several months before the Battle of Hogwarts and, when it showed signs of trying to grow back, under the axe again in the spring of 1981 and of 1982, too, before it was finally subdued. Accommodation and workshops for some of the castle's house-elves were erected on the site.)
To the best of my knowledge, there is no indication in canon (as of February, 2014) of the presence of any distilleries in or in the vicinity of Hogsmeade, but it makes sense to me that Scotland's only 'all-wizarding' community would have at least one.
I'm in two minds over whether this piece will have follow-ups, or remain a one-shot within the framework of the Saint Potter universe. For now (February 2014), I have no definite plans for further expansion of it, so am accordingly tagging it as 'complete'.